


now i'm falling heavily, recklessly

by quintessences



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Blood, F/M, Meet-Cute, Panic Attacks, like there's barely any cursing, now some warnings, this is probably some of the cleanest stuff i've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quintessences/pseuds/quintessences
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>lucaya drabbles and some prompts from tumblr; title from a couple of kids by maggie lindermann</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. it's raining, it's pouring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amirmitchell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amirmitchell/gifts).



> i've sold my soul to kalista so all of my writing is most likely dedicated to her.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where lucas is a clueless cowboy in new york city. (requested)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> although it was requested, this was written mostly for my benefit. cheesy stuff ahead.

Lucas meets her on a rainy day at a bus stop.

It's not just raining, it's— _buckets_ of water dumped on him, and he can feel the water leak under his coat and soak his undershirt, and _goddammit_ it's cold. His body is racked with shivers and he jams in his hands in his coat pockets in a feeble attempt to gain extra body heat.

He practically sloshes under the cover of the stop, feeling the rain water from his hair drip down his neck in cold, continuous lines, and he curses under his breath and puffs out a powdery white cloud of air, wringing out the hem of his shirt.

“Hey, stranger.”

And that's when he notices her.

He turns around to face a girl who’s sprawled across the metal bus stop bench, wearing a black leather jacket and combat boots, her blonde hair flying wildly in the wind. She smirks up at him, and her blue-grey eyes are piercing and full of amusement.

“Excuse me, but do I know you?” Lucas asks politely.

“Not from what I can remember, hence ‘stranger’,” she says. “Although I do give off that vibe, don't I?”

He studies her again. Her voice is clear and sharp and intelligent, and Lucas doesn't know what to make of her.

“What?” the girl says finally. “Something on my face, Cowboy?”

Lucas is taken aback. “What? How do you know—”

“That you're from the south? Your voice has that twang,” she says dismissively. “I can just tell. Plus, your walk and posture―and being so polite, ugh―pretty much gives away that you're from―what, Alabama? Texas?”

“Yeah, Texas,” Lucas replies, his eyes narrowed in shock. “How did you―”

“Like I said, I just know. To be more specific, the words kind of hang in the back of your mouth and the vowels are too round. Like the vowels in the word ‘you’―”

“I got it, I got it,” Lucas interrupts, a little cross that she can figure him out so easily. “But you don't sound like you're from around here. Where’re you from?”

She studies him icily. “Calm down, Ranger Rick. We just got to know each other―or rather, _you_. We got to know you.”

“By dissecting my accent and _posture_ ,” he adds, “which was scary-accurate.”

“Mm,” she says, picking at her nails boredly. “Anyways, I only wanted to stop you to say that your backpack was unzipped when you ran for shelter here.”

Lucas freezes.

“What?”

The girl kicks a leg over another and smirks again. “Your laptop’s probably in there, isn't it?”

Lucas slides off his backpack and paws through it, horrified to find the contents inside completely drenched in rainwater. And sure enough, his laptop is dripping, and he closes his eyes and groans.

“I just finished a report and was going to email it to my boss when I got home,” Lucas sighs.

“That's rough, buddy,” the girl says.

Lucas sits down on the bench next to her. She doesn't seemed fazed by the amount of water he's dripping on the seat.

“Bad day, Huckleberry?” the girl croons patronizingly, patting his shoulder. “Oh well.”

He shoots her a glare. “This really isn’t making me feel any better.”

“Sometimes life gets you down on your knees, Hopalong. Didn’t your mama tell you?”

Lucas zips up his backpack, looks up, and sighs. “Okay, you're right. Thanks for the advice.”

She grins.

“No problem, Quick Draw.”

“What is it with the names?” Lucas asks, exasperated.

Her expression only grows more amused.

“What, you don't like them?” she teases.

He doesn't, but a helpless laugh escapes his lips anyways.

“What do I do to make you stop?” he asks, scooting closer to her on the bench so that they're sitting shoulder to shoulder.

The girl smiles slyly. “Anything I want?”

Lucas pauses. “Uh…”

“Take me out on a date.”

For some reason, this doesn't come as a surprise, despite how casual this girl seems about asking him out. In fact, it makes her more attractive than she already is, which is saying something, with the overcast sky reflecting in her gaze and raindrops freckled in her hair and eyelashes. It almost seems like she throws the suggestion around to any given guy, by her tone of nonchalance.

As if she's read his mind, the girl presses, “It's a one time, special offer, Buckaroo. I don't just say that to just anyone.”

“So you think I'm special?”

“I think you're interesting,” she corrects with a smirk. “And good looking. And pretty clueless.” Then, as if to herself, she adds, “What's it like to date a cowboy?”

“You won’t be finding out, because I’m not a cowboy,” Lucas retorts firmly, then, less firm, “and I don’t even know your name.”

“That’s cute,” she hums, and when she turns to look at him, her eyes are alight with humor. “I’m Maya Hart. And you must be Ranger Blake Shelton McBoing Smith.”

“I’m Lucas Friar,” he says, but he can’t bring himself to feel annoyed anymore. “And you’re so funny. Ha.”

Maya smiles a real smile, one with clear delight, and embarrassingly enough, it makes Lucas’s breath catch. “I didn’t peg you as the type of guy to be sarcastic.”

“Well, you can figure me out some more on our date.”

She pats his arm. “That’s the spirit, Lone Star.”


	2. scratch marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where maya has demons. (requested)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: panic attacks, blood, bad jokes.

It’s a paradox, when it happens.

Maya wakes up with tears staining her pillow and her hands slippery with blood and her sheets are stained crimson. The darkness is―it’s _blindingly_ dark somehow, it’s disorienting and strange and _terrifying_ ―and suddenly her nails are digging into her skin and a fresh, raw pain floods her system and she―

She breathes.

Her vision sharpens.

She―every nerve, every cell―is _alive_.

/

It keeps happening, over and over, and before long, she's wrapping Ace cloth bandages around her hands at night and making daily stops at the laundry downstairs of her apartment and fucking waking up in the middle of the night and _screaming_ , god, she’s so scared but so awake, and sometimes she ends up suffocating herself in her blankets, as if it's somehow going to help her avoid turning into what she does at night.

One night, it happens for the millionth time, and the pain grips at her insides and tears at her stomach and she rips her mattress cover; a huge diagonal gash running from top to bottom. Before she can do anything else, she's a quivering mess and calling Riley—but, of course, Riley's spending the night at her parent’s place uptown, and she feels too pathetic to lay it all down in a voicemail.

So she falls apart, sitting on her bed, watching reruns of Golden Girls on her crappy television, feeling miserable and more alone than ever.

/

Maya smears blood on a person in a candy store.

She's buying jolly ranchers—a favor for Riley, who is back from visiting her parents—and is about to head out after paying when all of the rock candies crash onto the dirty tile floor and scatter everywhere.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, she's convulsing, her heart beating rapidly and her nails sharpening and bursting through the soft flesh of her hands, already scarred from her previous nights. And her vision is turning red and everything is feverish and spiraling out of control. Maya bends down to pick up the candies but it feels as if something sharp is piercing into her temples and she curls up.

Before she releases her pent up scream, a hand on her shoulder immediately extinguishes it.

“Are you okay?”

The voice is distinctively male and sounds genuinely concerned.

“I'm fine,” Maya grits out, her chest loosening, as she uncurls from her position on the floor. The pain in her temples eases into a persistent throb and her vision brightens, but her hands are still red.

The person doesn't say anything else, but sweeps the candies together and makes a neat stack. He's quiet and she's glad he doesn't say anything.

The store clerk enters her line of vision, fussy and holding a broom to sweep up the candies. The person has already stood up; she can hear the squeaking of his sneakers next to her.

“Need some help getting up?” he asks, his voice kinder than she would expect from a stranger.

Too drained to speak, Maya nods, looking up at him. He's good looking, with broad shoulders and green eyes that are more warm than piercing.

She grabs his hand, her grip slippery with blood, but he doesn't even seem fazed by that fact when he pulls her to her feet and hands her the plastic bag of candies.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

Maya manages a weak smile.

“I'm fine. I always get panic attacks when I spill jolly ranchers on the floor.”

The guy laughs, but he sounds nervous, as if he can't tell if she's joking or not.

“Well, um, just—I'm Lucas Friar, by the way,” he says, shifting in his spot. “If you need anything else—hell, if you spill more candies in another candy shop—just, call me, I guess. My name’s in the phone book, I think.”

Despite her bleeding hands and the embarrassing situation, Maya snickers. “You still use a phone book?”

Lucas smiles sheepishly.

“I'm the only one who still uses one, it seems.”

“I'll get one, just because you mentioned it.”

“That's nice of you.”

“You got a time traveling device on you? I accidentally left it in the Stone Age. I can't get the phone book without it.”

“Har, har.”

He walks her out of the shop. Maya’s breathing is still unsteady, but it evens the more she walks with him.

“By the way,” Maya says as casually as she can, “it's cool if I call you when I haven't dropped any jolly ranchers, right?”

Lucas looks embarrassingly flustered.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course,” he scrambles to say, and clears his throat. “It was nice meeting you…?”

“Maya Hart,” she replies, “and my name probably isn't in the phone book.”

Lucas raises his eyebrows.

“You're going to hold that over me forever, aren't you?”

Maya grins.

(And she does. Call him _and_ hold it over his head, that is.)


	3. sweep me off my feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where lucas proposes three times and the next time, he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fic that literally no one asked for but still got anyway because i'm a sucker for #+1 fics. a little bit mature (???) but it's still super clean imo but anyways it's sO cheesy be warned!!!

The first time he proposes, it’s an accident.

They’re all tangled up in Maya’s covers, slick with sweat and exertion, coming down from their climaxes, pressed up against each other, and Lucas says it. It comes out as an almost unintelligible garble, a flushed confession, when he manages, “Marry me.”

He immediately regrets saying it after the words leave his mouth in an appallingly illiterate jumble, but he’s lightheaded from sex and Maya looks  _ so _ good in this light, hair cascading over her shoulders and forehead damp and eyes gleaming in the dark, illuminated in the dim darkness of a Tuesday evening. 

It’s unintentional, when he proposes. 

He doesn’t even know what he’s proposing, when he proposes.

Maya doesn’t seem to catch on and laughs a breathless laugh, swinging off of him and taking off his condom. “Didn’t know that sex today was  _ that _ awesome,” she says in reply.

Lucas is quiet.

Maya’s humming to herself now, some indie rock song that she’s been singing lately, and climbs off the bed. “I’m gonna go pee,” she calls over her shoulder. “Can you clean up after yourself this time? I did it last time, and I’m not going to lie, it was  _ disgusting… _ ”

He wants to propose again, now that he’s proposed.

/

The second time he proposes, he doesn’t. 

It’s Maya’s birthday―the most predictable time of the year to ask her to marry him, and Lucas has reservations at this fancy restaurant that serves chocolate mousse, which he knows that Maya will eat by the bucketful. He picks out a ring with Charlie and Riley, who both insisted on helping him, because Maya’s known Riley since kindergarten and Charlie and Maya are practically joined at the hip. All three of them agree on a simple silver band with a single diamond on the top.

The ring burns a hole in his pocket as they go out to dinner. Maya’s wearing this sexy, elegant black dress and Lucas is wearing his nicest suit and he’s fucking  _ sweating _ , and he’s so shaky he almost drops the ring when he checks to make sure it’s in his pocket.

He’s certain Maya can see right through him at times, like at dinner when she points out some fussy married couples seated near them, and he’s biting his tongue when she mentions her mother’s conflicts with her new husband. The ring feels red hot and infused with flame.

But everything ends when Maya remarks off-handedly, “I’m glad we’re not married. I mean, it would be great to be married to you, but you see all these marriages fall apart, and don’t get emo on me, but I don’t ever want to lose you.” 

Lucas’s heart plummets to his feet. He should have expected that reply, considering the fact that they’re only twenty-four, and Maya has history with any problems with marriage, but it stings nevertheless.

“Yeah,” Lucas replies lamely, hating the way his voice cracks in disappointment. The ring in his pocket feels like lead bricks. He clears his throat. “I love you, Maya.”

“I love you too,” she replies, her voice soft. Something melts inside of Lucas, something bittersweet drips into the edges of his heart.

When they return to Lucas’s apartment, they watch the fourth episode of Star Wars and make out during the boring scenes, and the ring sits in Lucas’s drawer, collecting dust.

/

The third time he proposes, Maya doesn’t hear him.

They’re at Riley’s apartment, dog sitting while she’s on vacation with her new boyfriend and her parents. They’re marathoning her movies, which includes an extensive collection of Disney movies. Lion King is playing as Maya tucks herself in the crook of Lucas’s shoulder and kicks her legs over his lap, attempting to hold Riley’s squirmy labradoodle in her arms.

“I think,” Maya is saying, “that Mufasa is a misunderstood character.”

“I think,” Lucas replies, taking the puppy from her, “that you’re wrong.”

Maya does her mock-pout, shoves some buttered popcorn in her mouth, scoots closer to him. Simba and Nala are hardcore flirting on the television. “No due respect, babe, but fuck you. Have  _ you _ ever had a brother who was better than you in every way?”

“Yes, and you’ve met him.”

The puppy barks his agreement.

“Gimme,” Maya says, stretching open her arms. Reluctantly, Lucas returns the puppy to her. “First of all, you’re better than your brother in every way, shape and form, except in Halo, because you suck at that. Second of all, Mufusa was fucking  _ second in line _ to being the king of the pride, and nobody liked him―”

“For good reason,” Lucas interjects.

Before Maya can reply, a new song swells in the movie, and Maya eagerly bounces off his lap, cradling Riley’s dog, and belts out the first few lyrics of Can You Feel The Love Tonight. He watches as she tips her head back when she holds the long note, and peppers kisses onto the puppy, the puppy licking butter off of her lips. As Nala does that inappropriately seductive look at Simba, something stirs in Lucas.

Something wonders what it would be like to propose, now, in this very moment.

And staring at Maya, she’s so beautiful, it hurts him in this moment that he  _ isn’t _ proposing. It hurts to consider that he’s going to put off proposing to her for the third time; so he does it.

“Would you like to marry me?” he blurts out loud.

Blessedly, the music is too loud, and it takes his girlfriend a while to process the fact that he even said anything at all. She acknowledges his mumbled question with an appropriate frown of confusion a couple seconds later. “What’d you say?”

He’s tempted to repeat himself, and he almost does―when he suddenly remembers the ring in his dresser, glittering and perfect, and he imagines proposing without it. 

Lucas clears his throat, croaks, “Just wondered… If you wanted Sour Patch. I know Riley has a stash.”

“Why didn’t you say earlier?” Maya answers with a teasing glare. “Giddy on up into the kitchen then, Ranger Rick. And if I don’t get any, I’m gonna be angry.” 

It turns out that Riley’s stash consists only of empty Sour Patch bags, but it’s fine anyways, because Maya grants him with a kiss and the puppy by the end of the movie.

/ (+1)

The fourth time he proposes, he does it after her.

He’s washing the dishes in his apartment and Maya’s painting in another room, furiously working on her new piece, which she hasn’t allowed him to see since she started the project. It’s her newest obsession, something she’s been painting for a month straight, twenty hours a day. It’s definitely more than a little strange how attached she is to this piece of artwork, because he’s never seen her so determined to paint something for so long without even letting Lucas see any part of it. She’s threatened bodily harm if he even takes a peek at it, which is enough to make him think twice about sneaking in to see her artwork―he’s still grimacing from the last time she punched him.

But today, at 9:42 am, Maya waltzes into the sunlit kitchen and sings, “It’s finished!”

Lucas sends her an amused glance. “Your masterpiece?”

She slings her arm through his elbow and drags him into their room.

And the painting is breathtaking.

It’s blurry lines of sunlight, it’s the soft peachy beige of skin, it’s the maroon of lipstick-darkened lips pursed. It’s the blooming of daffodils, the soft pastel of lilies, the vivid pinks and reds and purples of rhododendrons. It’s purity and hope, and it’s tragic beauty.

It’s love.

Maya is staring at him, tears in her eyes, leaning against him with their elbows still linked. And Lucas, speechless, laughs a breathless, helpless laugh, holds her waist with two hands and looks her in the eyes. 

“It’s gorgeous, Maya.”

“It’s for you,” she says, her voice shaky. 

Lucas doesn’t know what to say.

And suddenly, her voice quiet and thick with tears, Maya asks, “Will you marry me?”

Time stands still.

Lucas frowns.

“I can’t.”

Maya inhales once, a sharp intake of breath.

Lucas  _ runs _ .

He scrambles into their bedroom, bangs open the dresser drawer, and clutches the ring so hard in his hand his knuckles are bleeding.  _ It’s finally happening _ , he’s saying over and over to himself as Maya comes in sight, her face a kaleidoscope of shock and confusion.

“Lucas, what are you―?”

“Maya Penelope Hart,” Lucas pants, chokes,  _ breathes _ , “would you―”

“No,  _ no _ , Lucas what is this?” Maya interrupts, her voice cracking. “I just proposed, and you said no, so what is this?”

“It’s something that I’ve tried to do for the past half year,” Lucas replies, his eyebrows knit, his heart pounding so fast, it feels somehow like a vibration, a single pulse. 

Suddenly he remembers he’s not on one knee.

He can hear Maya’s breath catch as he kneels in front of her.

“Maya Penelope Hart,” Lucas says as firmly as he can manage. “Would you make me the happiest man alive?”

They’re both crying as he pulls out the ring.

“Will you marry me?” he asks.

And wordlessly, after a long, terrifying moment, she nods frantically, smothering him in a hug as he pulls himself up, pressing her lips to his as he slides the ring on her finger. And it tastes like tears and joy and fulfillment. 

It was the right moment to propose after all.


End file.
